We Choose
by Rinaty
Summary: The choices we make truly have a large impact on the world around us; if only we realized just how strong that potential was. While some choose to do something, others simply choose to remain on the fence. In a world were every little action can mean the difference between freedom and imprisonment, Alfred must find a way to save a country he no longer believes in. Human/Au


**A/N:** These kids are humans and not countries. Oh, and Romano is in this so don't be surprised by some 'colourful' language.

* * *

**We Choose**

**Not To Hear**

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There was something fundamentally wrong with the way this country worked. No matter how loud or publicly someone shouted out for the people to listen, too few cared to pay any attention. It did not matter what they had to say or how true it was, no one would come to their rescue when the president's men came for them. Turning away from the stacks of newspapers and the face of the man who had tried to cause a revolt, Alfred tried not to think too much about what his thoughts made him. He did not want to know what a person like himself was supposed to do to save the world; it wasn't like he was a superhero or something insane like that.

"Money on the ceiling," a low voice murmured.

Alfred looked up from his work in search of the speaker, artificially dark brown eyes narrowing as they fell on a teen. The scent of smoke clung to the teen like wet leaves; yellow stains settling into the polyester polo shirt that he had only half tucked into his black slacks. Tips of similarly dyed fingers toyed with the swollen flesh around his ear. He didn't flinch as one slipped through the infected hole where his gauge had once been.

"What," Al asked.

Red rimmed eyes turned on him, their pale chestnut color clouded over with the beginnings of cataracts. Alfred merely kept eye contact having grown numb to the idea of the young man losing his sight. It was out of either of their hands because the only cure was far above what their measly pay could ever hope to cover.

"Don't you see it?"

He frowned when the teen pointed at the ceiling. All he could see were tattered panels that would eventually collapse on top of them one night.

"No."

The content smile faded from his lips. Black eyebrows angled over his eyes in an attempt to express his confusion, but he only looked tired to Alfred. His mouth opened as if to ask how the other man could not see it. After a moment, he closed his mouth to stare blankly at the ceiling instead of bothering to make him see what he did. Alfred, noticing that the conversation was now over, went back to stocking the shelves.

Scared fingers danced over the many colored covers of cigarette boxes. It was without any enthusiasm that he plucked one such box out of the bigger container and placed it upon the dust caked shelf. A blue rectangle on the side of the otherwise green item drew his eye temporarily._ Surgeon General's Warning: Quitting smoking now greatly reduces serious risks to your health._ Alfred shook his head, forcing brown dyed strands to brush against his cheek bones.

Don't smoke cigarettes, they can kill you. Don't run into traffic, you could die. Don't play with guns, you might kill yourself. Don't drink and drive, you could kill someone else. All these warnings and none of it ever stopped people from doing what they wanted. Years ago Alfred had stopped watching the morning news, demolishing the center piece of his younger self's morning ritual. He had come to the grand conclusion that they simply told the same story over and over; someone ignored the warnings and the consequences were greater than they had been willing to pay.

He still remembered the vague details of a young grandmother who had been drinking heavily one afternoon. For one reason or another she had decided to go driving on the freeway and ended up crashing her car. The mother and daughter in the truck she hit died instantly while her three young grandchildren ended up dying at varying points that day. She, the one who had caused five deaths, ended up living the rest of her life in prison.

A coughing buzzer jerked him out of his thoughts, and Alfred looked up at the clock on the wall, "Looks like it's time to lock up, Kaoru."

The teen meet his gaze with the appearance of one waking from a dream. His movements were stiff as he pushed himself off of the tiled flooring, where he had stopped some hours ago to fetch a fallen pen. Alfred brushed away Kaoru's hands as the young Asian moved to count the register. "It's alright, I've got this tonight."

"Okay," Kaoru mumbled with a listless shrug. He never gave Al any type of opposition, and, in a way, this made him both the best and worst co-worker. Alfred shook his head slowly, beginning the long process of closing the shop.

When the faded poster covered doors locked quietly behind him, Al allowed the first sigh to leave his lips and he turned left. In the distance he could see the thick blanket of black fading to deep blue. Dawn was on its way. Alfred stuffed his hands into the holey pockets of his pale green hoodie as he walked. His shoulders were squared in an effort to detour any who might have thought he was easy prey so early in the chilly morning.

He hadn't always been the way he was. At one time he had been just another naïve American who thought his country was one of the best. In his young eyes there would have been nothing as worthy of his life as the country that had guided, protected him though out the years. It wasn't until he sat in the backseat of his tiny Honda civic after a long day of selling scrap metal to get by and trying to sleep that the idea came to him.

At first he had fought viciously against the mere hint that America was not what it was made out to be. Years of propaganda upon years of propaganda began to waver as he pressed his hands to the wall in his best attempt of keeping the dawning realization at bay. He had denied it for days, unconsciously searching out things that would prove to him that he was right. Yet, the closer he looked at the cities around him the more he saw that it was false. The world was far from what he had believed it was.

It had hurt in a way that not even the death of his little brother ever had. To believe so firmly in something only to have it ripped away had left him reeling, grasping for something to hold on to. There was nothing to ground him. Over the months, he had wrestled with the idea that he had been raised on lies until he finally accepted it. There had not been any screams, tears, or begging; it had been a silent sort of acceptance like when one realized that they could never truly touch the sky.

The pale glow of a television on the dark street drew him to a rather large window. Through the black bars meant to discourage thieves, he spotted a national news channel. His ears focused and the low buzzing shifted into words.

"...has come to our attention that these attacks have not been as random and mindless as they appeared last month. This video was found online and its message is very disturbing."

A small box in the corner of the screen expanded until Alfred could no longer see the newscaster with his painted on eyebrows. Black static echoed down the empty street before the image cleared. Sitting upon the edge of a rooftop was what appeared to be a rather thin male dressed from head to foot like any other young adult on the street. Hell, his hoodie was the same color as the one Al wore at that very moment! Unlike his peers, the male sported an all-black mask.

The camera zoomed in, shifting a bit as the person who had held it moved. Upon the mask was a white, flat line that stretched no further than the male's actual mouth could. Above it were two similar lines that obviously symbolized the man's eyes. Briefly, Al wondered how he could see, but the next words derailed that thought in a breath.

"America: land of the idiots and home of the poor. How has it come to be that the nation that had once been so hell bent on independence that it slayed its kinsmen, has turned into the sad piece of shit around us?"

A tanned hand rested over his tightening chest as that old flame of patriotism tried to burst to life. It stuttered out not a second later much like a wet match, but its affect last longer than it had. Alfred had been so sure that it had long since been snuffed out that he looked down at his hoodie in surprise.

"If you doubt my words, take a good look around yourselves. Tell me, can you honestly say that you do not see what I am talking about? Do you not recognize how you have been tricked out of embracing your own constitution? Can you not acknowledge that your, once limitless, freedom of speech as been so fenced in over the years that it's come to the point where you cannot even mention certain words that are utterly harmless? Has it not occurred to you that they have frightened you into giving up everything that those men lied down their lives for all those 242 years ago?"

"I know I see it," the figure crossed his arms across his chest, "America; let us bring the dawning of a new age. Help us rewrite this story before it can reach its tragic end. We are-"

Alfred blinked in surprise as the video was cut short and the newscaster was put back on, "I-I'm sorry. It appears there were some...uh, t-technical difficulties. We'll be back after this!"

Al pushed away from the window when the screen changed into that of neon orange; he did not have to stay to know that it was a commercial for some type of soda pop. Ignoring just how well he could feel every bump in the road through his thin soles, Alfred continued on his way back home.

It did not take a university academic to understand that it had not simply been 'technical difficulties' that had caused the news station to shut off the video. The young man was trying to start something that any government worth its salt would attempt to crush as soon as possible. No one wanted a revolution, least of all America.

Shadows twisted, racing for the cracks that would protect them until night fell again. Alfred hardly noticed it until warmth spread across his forehead, forcing him to look up in surprise. Brown eyes narrowed as he stared into the rising sun and a small smile slipped into place. Despite the fact that he worked the overnight shift at the cigarette shop every night, he did not get to experience the sunrise often because he was usually already at his day job. Today, however, he had been gifted with a day off.

Al knew exactly on how he wanted to spend it, too. Nothing could beat being spread out on his bed and passed out. Of course, things didn't usually work out for the faux brunette. The angle at which the sun was hitting his eyes, there really wasn't any way that he could have seen the blow coming.

It was only when his worn converse left the concrete and he was thrown backwards that it registered in his mind that he had been hit. Pieces of long since forgotten trash were rudely shoved aside as the young man crashed into the dark ally. Pain rocketed up his spine and he gasped, arms automatically moving to curl around him for protection. They didn't get far before they came in contact with a chilled, leather jacket.

"What," Al reopened his eyes only to find himself staring down at hair of such a similar brown to his own that he had to wonder if the other man used the same dye. The head of brown was tilted back until Al was looking into brown eyes, hidden behind glasses with round lenses. A vast, black bruise was revealed when the male tucked the chin length strands behind one ear.

"S-sorry," the stranger managed to stutter out while shifting so that he was kneeling between Alfred's legs rather than sprawled across his lap. Al barely paid any attention to him; fighting back against what his memories were trying to tell him had happened to the meek male. The mark traveled down the expanse of his thin cheek bone and well past his jaw, disappearing under his tight, black shirt.

"Who hit you," his query was drowned out by the pounding of feet upon concrete and Alfred felt the odd male flinch.

"Where the fuck is he," a deep voice growled out in frustration as he charged past the pair's hiding place without seeing them.

"Just start checking every alley," a second man called from the opposite side of the street, "He couldn't have gotten far."

"N-no," Al looked down at the whispered plea, eyebrows joining together in an expression of worry. They only had a few minutes before the two men would peek into their alleyway and who knew what they would try to do to the stranger. Boney fingers dug into his wrists and Alfred realized that the bespectacled male was trembling, chin tucked into his chest. Chapped lips twisted into a frown as Al came up with a plan to give the kid a shot at escaping.

"Give me your jacket," the stranger jerked back at the command, eyes wide as if he had somehow forgotten that Al was even there. Al's faith in his plan hardened when he saw how much they looked alike and he didn't wait for the other to comply. He harshly yanked his hoodie over his head, for once thankful that he had lost his glasses. The article of clothing was thrown in the other man's face before he began to remove the leather jacket. His hands slipped under the jacket, working on removing it as quickly and painlessly as possible.

"W-wait," the man whimpered when his left shoulder turned the wrong way, but Alfred did little more than wince in apology. They were running out of time.

"Run once I lure them away."

His order was clear as he stepped over the confused male, sliding on the jacket. He hardly had a moment to notice just how well it fit as he walked into the street, becoming focused on his self-appointed mission. Sunlight lit up the side of his face and Alfred managed to spot the two villains only a handful of paces away from him.

"Hey morons," Al shouted at the pair, grinning mischievously as they turned to him in surprise. He shot off a one finger salute before turning on his heel and dashing back up the street. Curse words fell from the first male's mouth, but Alfred did not quite catch the words. This was his city and he knew exactly where he could go to get out of this mess.

Alfred kept up a short chant in his head as he ran, reminding himself to breathe in through his nose and out his mouth. It was a trick he had picked up during track back when he was just another high school student. He unconsciously put more weight on his front leg before kicking off the ground. His effort paid off as he cleared several bags of trash someone had so thoughtfully put in the middle of the side walk.

One eyes slammed shut as he landed wrong, teeth burying into his tongue as he forced himself to keep running; all the while hating the fact that he couldn't see very far without his glasses. Maybe he should have stolen the soft spoken guy's glasses as well. Despite the fact that the men had not called out to him since the chase began, Alfred was confident that they were still after him. If he could just make it to 7th street, he would be in the clear because only pickpockets were brave enough to break the law there. Not to mention that he would easily lose them in the morning rush.

His hand shot out, brushing fingertips against the shark brick corner and relief began to pool in his stomach as the sounds of 7th street reached his ears. Only a person or two bothered to glance up as he raced past them, shouldering on aside as gently as he could without stopping. The unfortunate woman stumbled in her too high heels and her tanned hands released the tray of coffee she had been carrying. Several people jumped back or shouted out in offended surprise as they were sprayed with the boiling hot liquid. Alfred glanced back long enough to watch as the villains tried to shove their way through the wall the crowd had formed on the side of 7th.

Turning his gaze back to what was in front of his moving feet, the man took note of the heavy traffic and grinned in triumph. The people of his city knew within their first week of living there that driving anywhere near downtown at this hour was a horrible mistake. Unlike in most other parts of the city, the people that had to cross 7th did not care if they caused a wreck or not. They were entirely too focused upon getting to the next meeting on time without messing up their attire in the process. Then, because there were so many people, the lights were rigged to stay on red lights for a full two minutes longer the typical.

The high from having beaten the two villains without ever raising his fist was too sweet for him to take in anything else about the city around him. Or at least, it was until the ever alluring scent of hamburgers reached him. Stomach cramping in need, Alfred slowed to a walk as he passed one of the many local vendors. A man in his late thirties looked up and his dark eyes narrowed in anger. Al ducked back into the thickest parts of the crowd with the man's heavy Cuban accent following after him.

Alfred kept his head low out of shame, all too aware of his empty pockets. It had burned his pride a few days previous when he had been unable to pay for the meal he had ordered from the vendor. He had stalled as his mind tried to come up with a plan while he praised the man's cooking. Time, however, would not halt for the young man and his hand had been forced. Something in his chest had withered as he distracted the Cuban immigrant long enough to make a run for it.

He was sure that the sign on his cart was all because of him. In bold, red lettering it read, "Pay first."

A metal can skidding across the concrete drew Alfred's attention. The brightly lit blocks of downtown had swiftly transformed into the grimy streets of the lesser neighborhoods. Empty, wounded buildings looked out on the cracked asphalt as if their only purpose was to remind humans that there had once been better times. Even the trash that huddled against the walls had long since faded to muted greys.

Though it often felt as if he had traveled half-way through the city, in actuality, Alfred was only a handful of streets over from 7th. The only reason he had bothered to come to this desolate part of the city was because he lived here.

"Get out of the fucking street!"

Al jerked as he realized that the words were directed at him, not having realized that he had stopped in the middle of the street to take in the broken neighborhood. He glanced to his right where a man sat in a faded blue convertible. The dents, scratches, and total lack of a bumper told him that the driver had probably salvaged it from a junk yard; back in '82. The car gave a sharp honk, earning its owner a scowl from the lad.

"Why don't you get out of the street?"

The driver stared at Al in shock before he stood up, leaning over his cracked windshield, "You got something to say, you little piece of shit? Your mother should have shoved you straight back up her-"

Al's mouth actually fell open as the crazed man continued to rant at him as if he had set his house on fire and then pissed on the ashes. The angrier the driver became, the thicker his already hard to understand accent was. If he had to hazard a guess, Al would assume the man was Italian and completely living up to what some people thought of them. Then, as if to leave no stereotype not noted, he started to gesture wildly with his free arm, the other supporting him against the steering wheel.

"Your great, great grandfather should have just cut his own throat to save us all the trouble of having to deal with his inconsiderate, back-talking, cheap hair dye wearing grandson," a high note tore through his words, causing the man to pause and dig around in his pocket. His hand came back with a cellphone which he answered, "What?!"

It was while Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose that the he came up with one of his best plans. Since the psycho was absorbed in his phone call, he would take the chance to slip away. Al was aware of the driver shouting for him to stop, but he simply ducked his head. Soon enough, the young man had disappeared into an alley that was too thin for the car to fit into. A minute later and his brown hair became hidden from view completely.

"Damn it, Feliciano," the driver sighed; the duct tapped leather seat catching on his jeans when he sat down. A calloused hand ran over his lightly tanned face, "This had better have been important."

"Did you see it?"

"No, I was busy getting my nails done." His sarcasm was dismissed without consideration.

"France thinks we should make another one," Romano could hear the layer of worry in his little brother's otherwise blank tone. Blunt teeth ground his bottom lip. Ever since the duo had been swept into this whole 'revolution' idea, Feliciano had changed. Gone was the bubbly, dim kid that ran from the barest hint of danger. The nights where he would lay beside Romano, talking about anything that came to his mind had ended rather abruptly, and Romano found himself almost missing them.

"France," he stressed the alias, "Couldn't tell his ass from his face if he had a mirror and a map." Part of him waited for his brother to tell him that he shouldn't say such mean things about their 'friends', but the words never came. Instead, he heard the tell-tale distortion of someone sighing.

"Listen, the world is united under one flag in Tokyo." Again he waited for a happy goodbye or even that irritating 'Ve' sound. The slight click of the call being disconnected was all he received. Dark brown eyes narrowed on the small grey device in his hand and he almost wished he could slap the back of his brother's head. He no doubt deserved it.

A careless toss later found the cell bouncing across the backseat where it wedged itself between the belt buckles. Its owner didn't bother to so much as roll his eyes as he shifted gears; the car whining in protest to the rough treatment. Romano stared out at the dirty road without much interest, the wind pushing at his auburn curls.

Really, if he wanted to, he could blame everything on the afternoon that his baby brother met _him._ Tall, blonde, and blue eyed; he had been what most preteen girls would have sold their souls for. It seemed that Feliciano was not exempted from that. Romano had been unable to stand the German foreigner from the very moment he helped Feliciano up off the floor where he had knocked him down.

Romano hardly noticed that the light was a bright red when he drove through it, his mind in completely other places. Almost instantly, the screaming siren was pounding his ear drums mercilessly as if it was aware of its purpose. The Italian-American punched the worn steering wheel under his hands when the rear-view mirror revealed the image of a police car. He knew, even without trying, that he would not be able to stay out of a jail cell that night. No matter what he said or how much he tried to bribe the cops, they always threw his ass into the back seat of their squad car.

It was with a resigned roll of his eyes that Romano pulled over, purposely parking between two other cars to inconvenience the officer. His mood lifted as he watched the police drive past him to the only other available spot on the street, several yards beyond him. Romano twitched in his seat as he heard the squad car door open. Really, he had a meeting tonight and if no one knew where he was, they wouldn't start at all. The last thing he wanted was to have that blond bastard chewing him out like he was some delinquent child.

Romano had wanted nothing in life that warranted the kind of hell it was putting him through. Sighing loudly through his nose, the man grasped the edge of his car door and leaped over the side. The officer started shouting for him to stop, but he was already racing into the nearest alley.

* * *

Alfred shook his head as if it would get the image of the screaming Italian off of his mind. Seriously, what had been that guy's problem?

His spirits lifted as his ash colored apartment building came into view. When Al had first moved in the old lady that rented the room under him had tried her hardest to add beauty to the rundown place. It was her garden that had originally drawn the young man's eye; the vivid blue Forget-Me-Nots and golden Sunflowers gave something to the street that it lacked.

The man frowned softly as he touched one of the last petals on a rather persistent Sunflower. Since the elderly Greek woman had been hospitalized nearly a month ago, her garden had fallen into disarray. Weeds had quickly cropped up and the flowers had drooped in mourning for the loss of their mother. Alfred shook his head once more, continuing up the few short steps and wondering if anyone would do anything for the poor plants.

When his hand reached for the pocket of his hoodie, Al realized something important. He was not wearing his favored hoodie, but a used leather jacket. His house keys were in his hoodie, and the hoodie was now on the stranger from the alley. A possible lunatic or drug addict was out and about the city with his apartment keys and his wallet; not that he had any cash in it anyways.

Shoulders sagging, he raised his hand dejectedly to press the buzzard for the apartment beside the old lady's. Both praying the brat had already left for school and that he was home, Alfred shoved his hands into his pant pockets.

"What do you want?"

His head snapped up at the voice, meeting a pair of suspicious blue eyes through the small glass panel in the door. Alfred felt his eyes trying to narrow in suspicion as well, but fought it off. Quietly, he commanded, "Let me in."

The boy blinked in disbelief before scuffing with enough force to fog up the entire glass panel. Al swallowed an irritated grunt as the boy called childishly through the thick door, "Why would I ever do anything for a punk like you?"

"Peter," Alfred managed to grit out between his clenched teeth, "Open the door or I'll tell your brother that you stomped on Ms. Karpusi's flowers."

The child paled a bit, "B-but I didn't! There's not even any damage!"

"Not _yet_," Al made sure to stress the last word. Peter always gave him hell for everything for no reason other than the fact that Alfred's face seemed to have deeply offended him. He really was the only thing the fake brunet hated about living in the apartment complex. "Well?"

"F-fine," Peter grumbled as he unlocked the front door and swung it open. The kid remained in Alfred's way as he stared at the floor, sulking and the man suppressed another sigh.

"Are you going to get out of the way?"

Grunting in annoyance, Peter released the edge of the door and stomped down the hall to where his apartment was. Apparently the boy lived with his elder brother, but Al hadn't seen the guy once in the six months that he had lived there. It was just as well since Alfred still owed the guy a black eye or two after his little 'gift.' Seriously, if the guy had thought that those burnt bricks were the perfect idea for a welcoming present then he had another thing coming. The man couldn't recall ever having eaten anything so foul in his short twenty-two years.

A snort echoed in the mostly empty stairwell as Al reached the third floor where his apartment was located. While he often referred to the building as an apartment complex, that was very far from the truth. At one time in history, the walls that surrounded him had belonged to a rather large family and they had spent many years in the home. If he looked hard enough, Al would still find the small traces of the 1920's in the molding and hints of 1890's in the trim around the doors. Of course, nothing screamed American harder than the pile of silver cylinders standing between his door and his neighbor's door.

Expertly stepping over multiple empty beer cans, Alfred almost laughed at the memory of the first day that he met one of his stranger neighbors. The man had accosted Al when he had tried to leave for work, making comments about how easy it was to access beer in America and how he was simply amazed by this small fact. The thing that had amazed Alfred was that it was one of the hottest days of the year and the strange foreigner was wearing long pants and a light jacket. When he had voiced his thoughts, the man had looked at Al as if_ he_ was the odd one.

Slipping his apartment key into the lock after removing it from under the welcome mat, Alfred sighed with world weary delight. He was finally home. The door pushed open easily enough, but Al wasn't granted the chance to step over the threshold before a high pitched shriek sounded from his pocket. Hands fumbling quickly to answer the damned phone, he almost did not hear a faint thump from inside his apartment and ended up answering his cell phone without paying much attention to it, "Hm?"

"Alfred?"

Tanned features winced as he recognized the soft, foreign accent. He honestly considered throwing a bit of a fit since he knew there was only one reason his manager would call him so early in the morning. On his day off. Taking care to exhale through his nose, the man asked her a question he wished he was dick enough to pretend to not know she wanted him to ask, "When do you need me?"

"Oh! As soon as you possibly can; Mikkel called off again," the relief in her voice almost made him feel better about being suckered into giving up his extra sleep. It probably helped that she was actually a very kind boss or sorts. She never got upset if he happened to be too sick to go in.

"Alright, I'll head out then," Al withdrew his key from the lock and leaned through the open door to flip the lock back, "Bye 'Liza."

"Bye!"

Those brown eyes scanned over his apartment for a moment, and Alfred had to admit that it was rather lacking in anything that classified an area as an apartment. Really, the one room plus bathroom more closely resembled a crawl space. Shaking his head at the sight of his cat laying sprawled across his couch/bed, the man tucked his spare key into his new found jacket and backed out of his home. Usually, he would have scolded the poorly named 'Americat' for getting on the furniture, but he just did not have the energy to do so at the moment. It was with the tiniest of smiles that Alfred closed his front door and began to long walk to work.

It really was a shame he never heard the muffled sneeze that signified that someone had invaded his home turf.

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**A/N: So, this if my first, possibly, long Hetalia Fic with dearest Alfred as the main character of sorts. This takes place some time in the near future in America. Yayz. **


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